


i've walked with you once upon a dream

by ScreechTheMighty



Series: Talk Some Sense To Me [5]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: (ignore the funny tags this is a sad fic), Angst, Dreams, F/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Prophetic Dreams, Rated for Profanity, Self Loathing, no beta reader we die like men, no chance. no way. she won't say she's in love.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 19:39:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19482652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreechTheMighty/pseuds/ScreechTheMighty
Summary: You'll love me at once/ The way you did once upon a dream...Wraith's dreams make her face a reality she may not be ready for.





	i've walked with you once upon a dream

**Author's Note:**

> I was gonna say Happy Fourth of July, but it's actually July Fifth now where I am so...never mind. Also, sorry, this is a sad one. I've had the idea for a while, but I had the inspiration to finally write it last night. Title, description, and honestly general inspiration taken from "Once Upon a Dream", specifically the spooky Lana Del Rey version from _Maleficent_.

These were some of the things she dreamed about:

Her escape from the mental hospital, almost every night for weeks, until she knew every variation and was able to find a way in her waking hours.

The arena, long before she ever saw it. She even dreamed about the Leviathans overtaking the place, something she forgot about until it happened in real life.

And, despite herself, Elliott Witt.

The third category didn’t start until the end of their first season together. This was around the same time he started making her smile, and around the same time she realized how _much_ he was making her smile.

The dream was simple, and so real that she didn’t think twice about any of it. She woke up, dragged herself out of bed, and went about her normal routine. Things didn’t take a turn until she left her room for breakfast. Elliott was out in the hallway waiting for her. “You slept in,” he noted, falling in step with her. “Everything good?”

Had she slept in? Now that he mentioned it, she was feeling pretty worn down. “I’m okay. It’s just been a long month.” It seemed, in that moment, completely natural when he lightly bumped against her shoulder and took her hand. “I’ll be all right.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.” He smiled at her, and squeezed her hand. “Good.”

The way he looked at her was the tell. There was always _something_ , no matter how real a dream felt, that made her realize it wasn’t real. Elliott might have been friendly with her, but he’d never looked at her like that, ever.

She woke up for real seconds after realizing this.

It was a relief when Mirage treated her normally the next day… _almost._ The knowledge of what her dreams often meant soured that relief.

She had dreamed about her escape. She had dreamed about the Arena. She had dreamed about specific matches, specific opponents, to the point that she had been able to use information gleaned from them to avoid certain death. The details were sometimes off, but they were still _relevant_ to her time and path.

Wraith didn’t want to think about how that dream of him might be relevant.

She was able to avoid it for another few months. There were no dreams, and nothing really changed in their relationship aside from a growing sense of familiarity. But then there was the incident with her hair, a moment of familiarity that she couldn’t ignore. A moment that she might have mistaken for another dream if she hadn’t held onto his hairbrush for a good day and a half after.

The next dream didn’t come right after that night; it took a few weeks, a few more moments where his habitual flirting seemed gentler and more genuine, a few more times he made her smile. It took her re-playing the memory of his carefulness over and over in her head whenever she had a hard time sleeping.

She should have known from the start that something wasn’t right, because she woke up in a hospital bed and not her own bed. But at the time, she was caught up in a moment of blind panic. _Where am I? Am I back at the facility? No, no, I can’t be…_

“Hey, hey…”

There was a hand on her shoulder. Someone was holding her hand. It was Elliott. He looked like he hadn’t slept. “It’s okay,” he said. His voice shook with a mixture of exhaustion and relief. “Hey, you’re awake…”

“Elliott…?”

“Yeah. I’m here. The doctors said you’d probably feel woozy for a bit...” He kept rubbing her shoulder gently. “Do you need anything? Should I get someone?”

“No,” she said immediately. “No, don’t go.” The thought of him leaving terrified her for some reason. She gripped his hand tightly. “Please.”

“Okay. Okay.” Elliott sat back down. He looked _exhausted,_ exhausted but relieved _._ “I’ll stay right here. Oh, fuck, I’m glad you’re okay.” He held onto her hand with both of his. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there in time.”

“It’s okay. Not your fault.” She couldn’t remember what had happened. That was her first clue. “Are _you_ okay?”

Elliott smiled at her, and it was like the sun breaking through clouds. “I’m better _now_.”

He pressed her hand against his lips. That was the second clue.

Her hand still tingled when she woke up. When she saw him again, it felt like it was burning.

The dreams came and went after that. They were all small moments, like that first dream: holding hands, a one-armed hug that lasted just a little too long, him calling her _mi vida_ (she was too afraid to look up what that meant, but he said it so gently that she didn’t have to). There was nothing so earth-shaking as that hand kiss, and yet she found herself thinking about them more and more.

Up until then, Wraith hadn’t been disappointed when she woke up. Hadn't found herself thinking about those gentle glances and casual touches, even in her waking hours. As much as Wraith had analyzed her dreams in the past, she had always known to be cautious. Known that for every left turn that killed her, there were a few left turns that spared her life. That she had to be skeptical and flexible, even if the information seemed useful.

But she wanted, desperately, for there to real truth to these dreams. It reached a point where she started analyzing Elliott’s actions in real life, looking for any sign of what she’d seen in those dreams.

It didn’t take long for her to hate herself for it.

It was bad enough that these feelings had already been growing in her mind like a fungus. Wraith was here for business, to learn about who she was; she didn’t have the luxury of attachments. She had been able to stem the growth of her feelings, more or less, up until those dreams started. Before, she’d only had her own thoughts.

Now she had _hope,_ foolish and painful as it was.

Foolish and painful because how could he care about her as anything but a team mate? He didn’t know anything about her. _She_ didn’t know anything about herself, and what little she’d let on to him must’ve been useless. You couldn’t really care about someone unless you knew them. She was immaterial. She was _nothing._ That was why she was there. To get herself _back._

But until then, she was only a competitor. Only a nightmare that stalked King’s Canyon. Only a wraith.

No one could love that.

She told herself that, again and again, even as her mind latched on to every moment of kindness, every smile, every glance that lingered too long. Every time she had a dream, she told herself that this was another place and time. Another path.

Not hers.

It wasn’t fully working—it didn’t stop her from, sometimes, hoping—but it kept things stamped down enough.

Until she had one final dream.

Again, she didn’t realize anything was wrong. She had a bad case of morning breath, like she’d been so exhausted that she’d forgotten to brush her teeth the night before, but other than that, everything seemed fine. She went to get up, but an arm draped over her waist kept her pinned down. She managed to squirm her way free, drawing a quiet whine of complaint from the other person in bed.

The other person.

She paused, sitting on the edge of the bed, suddenly afraid to look over her shoulder. She finally forced herself to look, just long enough to see a mop of curly brown hair.

Why did she feel so sick suddenly? Everything was fine.

Wraith stumbled into the bathroom, the sudden ache in her thighs nearly knocking her over. Shit, she was going to need painkillers later. She splashed water on her face, but when she looked in the mirror…

How long had she had a scar on her face?

She was so distracted by the scar on her face that she almost missed the sound of footsteps approaching the bathroom. “Why are you _awake?_ It’s so _early._ ”

“It’s eight o’clock,” she said, as if on instinct. Her eyes scanned the bathroom, looking for something familiar. Two toothbrushes in a cup on the shelf, two hairbrushes, a small container with two rings resting inside…

“Eight o’clock is too early.” And suddenly he was there, his arms wrapped around his waist as he pressed his face into her shoulder. “We kicked ass yesterday. We get to sleep in.”

Elliott lifted his head, frowning as he noticed the look on her face. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

She woke up, her heart racing as if she’d just had a nightmare.

It was just her in the bed. Her legs didn’t ache as she ran to the bathroom. Her face was unscarred. There was only one toothbrush, one hairbrush, and no…

_“SHIT!_ ”

She slammed her hands against the rim of the sink. Her pulse was pounding in her ears, rushing like a river. When she looked back up into the mirror, she felt disconnected from her own reflection—like that other Wraith was staring back at her through the glass. “Why are you showing me this?” Wraith snarled.

Her reflection didn’t reply. That didn’t stop Wraith from unleashing her bottled-up anger.

“Listen, I’m glad that things worked out with him. _Good for you._ But you’re not me. _You’re not me_. That’s not my path. It’s _not._ ” She didn’t let herself think about those arms wrapped around her, or how warm and comfortable she’d felt for even a few moments. She couldn’t let herself remember that. “He doesn’t love me and he never will, so you can _stop **mocking me.**_ ”

Her reflection still didn’t reply, even as Wraith kept staring her down. There were no whispers. No answers.

She walked out of her room and went straight to the medical bay.

The nice thing about the Apex Legends medical team was that they didn’t ask a lot of questions. As long as you were performing well in the area and had enough winnings in your account to pay for treatments, no one felt the need to harass you about anything. So when she said she was having nightmares and trouble sleeping, no one thought twice. Better than that: they had a pill for it.

“I can give it to you now, but I’d wait until after your next match to start taking it,” the doctor told her. “There’s a bit of an adjustment period. You’ll be out of it until your body gets used to it.”

“That’s fine,” Wraith lied.

She had a match in two days, but she started taking the pills that night. She slept deeply. She didn’t dream. During the day, though, she felt strange. Strange, groggy, out of it. She hid it as best she could, and told herself that she could handle things. She’d always been able to before.

But not this time.

Her biggest mistake was in splitting up. They had been lucky so far: landing in an isolated area, finding good loot, and barely having to move as the ring closed in. That luck, and the strange groggy feeling that still clung to her mind, made her overconfident. Made her think that perhaps she could check a few terminals that she’d never been able to check before, even if she was away from the others. Maybe she’d finally find something.

She didn’t find anything. But something found her.

“Mirage, Pathfinder, I’ve got incoming.” She barely spoke above a whisper as she peered through the door out into the hallway. “Whole squad.”

“ _Shit…_ okay. Just stay put, we’re…”

_You’re spotted. Move._

She tried to run for it.

She didn’t get far.

She hadn’t seen this in any dream. She didn’t know how many times she’d lived or died in that building. And that lack of knowing brought _fear,_ fear that shot through her body and made the pain pulsing from her wounds all the worse. She could hear Mirage yelling in her ear ( _I’m coming, just hang on_ ), but someone from the enemy team was coming closer, Wingman in hand…

_he’s coming. hold on._

Not even the reassurance of the voices could stop the fear.

The sound of Pathfinder’s grappling hook whistling somewhere down the hall, though, did.

What happened next was a blur for her; as soon as the man with the Wingman turned away from her, she dragged herself into a side room, trying to get out of the way. She heard gunshots, the sound of Mirage’s decoys shattering under gunfire, more grappling hooks, and then silence.

The door swung open. Mirage was there, face red from exertion. “ _Wraith!_ Oh, fuck…” He knelt down next to her, hands fumbling at his belt for a syringe. “Hey. Hey, you’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

_lie still._

“I’m here.”

_you’ll be okay._

“I’ve got you.”

She passed out not long after.

When she came to, she was in a hospital bed. Her head was swimming from exhaustion and painkillers; her first thought was that, perhaps, she had been taken back to the facility. But just as she started struggling to get out of bed…

“Hey, hey.”

There was a hand on her shoulder. Mirage was there. It looked like he hadn’t slept. “It’s okay,” he said. His voice shook with exhaustion and relief. “Hey, you’re awake…”

She had been here before. Right? “Mirage…?”

“Yeah. I’m here. The doctors said you’d probably feel woozy for a bit…” His hand stayed on her shoulder, the one thing grounding her into her body. “Do you need anything? Should I get someone?”

“No.” No, she couldn’t be alone, not in this place. “No, don’t go. Please.”

“Okay. Okay.” Mirage sat back down. He looked terrible. “I’ll stay right here. Oh, fuck, I’m glad you’re okay. I’m sorry I didn’t get there in time.”

“It’s okay. Not your fault.”

It was then that she realized he had taken her hand as he sat down. Mirage realized too and quickly let go, even going so far as to sit on his hands. The blush spreading across his face was immediately obvious, even with how terrible he looked.

Her hand suddenly felt very cold without him holding it.

“Are _you_ okay?” she asked, despite knowing what the answer would be.

Mirage smiled at her. It was still like the sun breaking through the clouds, but with a hint of sadness she didn’t remember from her dream. The relief in his eyes, however, was just as sweet.

“I’m better now,” he said, so softly genuine that she couldn’t ignore it.

This wasn’t a dream. This was reality. And she couldn’t hide from it.

“Good,” she said, even as she felt her heart break. “That’s good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wraith: Elliott doesn't love me.  
> Elliott: Visibly and undeniably acts like he's in love with her.  
> Wraith, unable to hide behind denial anymore: Fuck
> 
> Also, I'm on tumblr at screechthemighty if you want to yell at me for writing this.


End file.
